


The Elevator

by JH_Moller



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26634565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JH_Moller/pseuds/JH_Moller
Summary: Piece of mindless Maeve introspection before *The Hospital* scenes, because this ship is so delightfully fic-able.
Relationships: Elena/Queen Maeve (The Boys)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	The Elevator

She's fine, Maeve thinks to herself. Elena is fine. She is okay. It's okay.

She could have been not fine, but she is. Not that Maeve should care, but of course she does. She lets out a frustrated breath through her nostrils. Of course she fucking cares.

She should have called her, back when...She really should have, instead she's now standing in an elevator feeling like a fraud. A fraud stealing the taste of a life and a reality she's not entitled to. Answering a call that wasn't hers to answer. Still she can't stop herself from imagining that this is her place, that it never stopped being hers, that it is her right, her obligation to care as deeply as she does.

She knows it is all a lie, or a ghost of sorts. A haunting of what could have been. In another life, in another reality where fears were less significant. One in which love wasn't so directly linked to death and pain. It's a silent and suppressed dream, but a well visited one. The dream about another life in which this moment would have her holding a small hand in hers, dark inquisitive eyes looking up at her, asking her to explain what an appendix is, if everyone has them, if it bursting makes a pop like when a balloon bursts, asking if everything will be okay. Instead her fingers close around her sunglasses, the plastic feeling disproportionately cold in her hands next to the fog of wishful thinking and feverish daydreaming.

The doors open with an obnoxious ding sound and a young man steps inside the small cabin. He doesn't look like much more than a child himself, so inexperienced, the fact that the name tag attached to his lab coat reads Dr Galton is more than a little worrying to her. How can someone so young be in charge of other people's health? Was the doctor who performed Elena's surgery this young? Hopefully not. What if...? Things could go wrong even afterwards, couldn't they? She suddenly wish the elevator to move faster, for it to stop opening its god damn doors at what felt like every floor. Fuck, does he even shave yet, she thinks to herself as she studies the man's disturbingly smooth chin.

He looks over at her out of the corner of his eyes. She can't quite tell if it is because he recognise her or if she's staring at him in a way that's getting creepy. But the idea of him with his hands inside of Elena is disturbing, her well-being resting on a kid like this?! She wants to quash the thoughts, but they're growing into an avalanche of discomfort inside of her and she has to forcefully tear her gaze away from him. Three deep breathes.

She closes her eyes and takes three more. It's helping, maybe, a little. The avalanche turns into a light snowfall, just a small rockslide. Her eyes find his chin again before looking up at him looking straight at her. Now she knows he doesn't recognise her, but he looks plenty uncomfortable with her scrutiny. She should probably say something, apologise maybe, she's not going to though.

She averts her eyes, catches her own warped reflection in the brushed steel of the elevator doors and the spell is broken. She returns to reality, the painstakingly real one and not the one of what could have been. There is no kid beside the doctor and the woman she's on her way to see isn't hers in any other way than through memories of broken promises and regrets. But even so, for now, for a few minutes, she can pretend the past isn't as heavy as it is.

The doors to the elevator open again, finally at her destination. She takes a step closer to Elena. And it strikes her, maybe she doesn't have to pretend. No matter how loudly she swears she doesn't feel, doesn't care, doesn't love, it's never been loud enough to quiet her heart. So maybe she can just walk in there and feel. No pretence, no veneer, just walk in there and treasure this less than perfect moment that still somehow feels like a gift. Maybe for a few minutes she'll be able lift her eyes away from the end, and instead share the intimacy of the now with the woman she loves, still. Because through whatever weird cosmic joke she was the one who got the call, she's the one listed under emergency contact.

Yes, she will allow herself this one luxury, to care and to love. The fragile shell surrounding them will break soon enough. In real life the only fairytales that existed were deliberately scripted and always ended in heavily sedated and never happily ever-after, at least for someone like her. But before the end there is the now, and in the now Elena can be hers.


End file.
